


when I am Queen

by orphan_account



Series: Druna dilly dilly [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cursed Draco Malfoy, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Learning To Communicate, Mute Draco Malfoy, POV Luna Lovegood, and maybe more - Freeform, follows previous work in series, pureblood courting head cannons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:36:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27038074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Luna Lovegood didn't fully expect Draco to come back to school in the aftermath of the war. For that reason, she's taken to watching him. Watching and debating if she should talk to him. To let him know he's not alone... Or if she should allow him to keep to his isolation.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Theodore Nott, Luna Lovegood/Draco Malfoy
Series: Druna dilly dilly [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1906234
Comments: 35
Kudos: 55





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Frumpologist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frumpologist/gifts).



> Happiest of birthdays to you, darling Frumpologist. I'll save all the fluff and sniffly and flatly things for tomorrow, but since it's officially the 16th in some places in the world, I wanted to share this with you. You are so special to me and I can't imagine my life without your friendship. Soul twin. thank you for the gift of you every single day <3 
> 
> So much thanks to Blueeyedsue and QuinTalon for their beta and alpha and encouraging eyes on this story. Luna scared me, but I adore her so much. I'm glad you love her, too, Frumpologist!

* * *

_ I love to dance, dilly dilly, I love to sing, _

_ When I am Queen, dilly dilly, you'll be my King. _

_ Who told me so, dilly dilly, Who told me so? _

_ I told myself, dilly dilly, I told me so. _

* * *

He’s come back to school and I didn’t expect that. I don’t know why I didn’t, but I didn’t. 

The unexpected intrigues me. Impresses me. Part of me wants to figure it out. Solve it as a riddle, or piece the meaning behind it together like a puzzle. 

But then I remember he’s a  _ person _ . Not a riddle or a puzzle—though, I’m sure he must feel a great deal like those things still. A problem that Healers can’t fix. A curse that can’t be broken. 

Or won’t. 

That’s a chilling thought I don’t like to dwell on, though. I’ve allowed myself to consider it once as a possibility, but I’d like to trust in Healers and Medi-Witches for now. I’d like to hope they would do the right thing. That they uphold their oaths to help and heal anyone in need. 

If they haven’t figured it out by the end of the year though, and Draco is still cursed mute or still unable to talk for magical reasons, I know it will be time to take matters into my own hands. That’ll be my first task after N.E.W.T’s—helping him, that is. If he’ll allow me to. If he’ll understand it’s not for pity or self-gain. 

If I can make him see it’s because I  _ want _ to. 

* * *

I didn’t expect Draco back in school for many reasons. 

First, there’s the fact he can’t talk. He can’t answer questions when addressed, but I suppose the professors have taken that into account, as they never call on him in class. And since he can’t talk, he’s having to leap from basic non-verbal spells to everything being non-verbal. That’s clever magic, but challenging. It requires a great deal of self-discipline I wasn’t aware Draco possessed. 

Or perhaps I’ve misjudged him all these years. Perhaps he’s more the boy who brought me food and locked his eyes to mine than I’d realised. Maybe even more than he realised. 

I’ll ponder more over this with a cup of hot cocoa and pudding in the kitchens tonight. 

For now, the second reason I hadn’t expected him to be at school is because I’m not entirely certain who’s aware of his situation and who is not. And this matters because it’s not in the papers. The fate of the Malfoy family should have made several weeks worth of headlines after the war, but all that was ever formally reported was that Lucius has been locked away while awaiting trial while Narcissa is kept under house arrest and Draco was injured and recovering at St. Mungo’s. 

Curious to say the least. But I never asked Draco about it in my nighttime visits to his room at St. Mungo’s. It was safety and reading then. And I’m not going to now. Not yet at least. 

I don’t think he’s ready for his shaky foundation to be shattered altogether—and that’s what my asking could do. So, where we are now is that I know that he knows I know. I know he can’t speak. He knows that I know. He seems to be waiting to see if I’ll tell people. He frequently locks eyes with me in the Great Hall and classrooms. And randomly about the school. It seems to be a challenge or test of sorts. It’s possible that bringing it up will break the small bond of trust we have.

Adding to my second point, I presume at least all the professors and some close friends must know. Or maybe it’s… one friend—Theodore Nott. Pansy seems to have created a great deal of space between her and Draco this year—she’s distant from everyone except Gregory Goyle for now, actually. Blaise keeps company with the Greengrass sisters and other Slytherins from my year. Anyone else who talks to Draco has harsh words to say and they seem to spit everything out at him. It’s hard to watch, but Draco never answers them. I see his fists clench, though. I think he wants to. It must be humbling to be forced into silence. 

Which brings me to my third and final reason for surprise at his decision to return to school: he could have chosen house arrest over this. His mother remains under house arrest and I’m confident Healers and Medi-Witches would have spoken on his behalf for it. He could have chosen to study at home and take his exams in private without all of… _ this.  _

Without seeing where he’s been forced to pretend to curse first years as punishment. Where he’d allowed Death Eaters and Greyback to enter the school.

Without looking into the eyes of those he’s brought pain to.

There was a means of separating himself from the faces and places of past sins. Of past failures. 

He chose to face them. 

Or let them haunt him.

* * *

I think I’d like to find out what the answer to my third observation is. 

I think it’s time to begin spending time with Draco. 

* * *

It’s been weeks and Draco is no closer to trusting me or allowing me near him for extended periods of time. I’m no closer to coming to any form of conclusion.

That’s all right. 

I’m patient. 

I’ve found he’s come to some form of understanding with Hermione. Perhaps Theo has something to do with that. Theo seems quite taken with her, and I think Draco’s loyalty outweighs anything else. Or perhaps it’s evidence he’s facing his past. Or only parts of it. He’s exchanged small smiles with Hermione and even grunts and writes notes to her when the three of them study as a group. 

I’ve found that when I approach their table, however, he shuts down entirely. 

Perhaps there’s a bit of both at work here.

And Draco’s still at war with himself. 

Which means he needs all the quiet patience I have to offer. 

* * *

We’ve come to the Halloween feast and he allows me to sit with him at meals. 

He holds my gaze for longer now when I work on assignments in the library with them. He’s let his guard down for cracked smiles and soundless chuckles in response to something Theo will say. He’s even passed me a written response here and there. 

Hermione told us of a Muggle form of hand signing as a means of communication for the hearing impaired. She’s offered to find books for Draco if he’s interested. He hasn’t answered her, but I’ve told her I’d like any material she’s able to get her hands on. 

Because I think…

I think Draco’s ready. 

I think he’s come to this critical point. 

He conceals it well, but there are cracks in his mask of indifference and stoicism. Pain and guilt peek through his eyes more than frustration in his silence now. 

I sneak glances of him between bites and sips of pumpkin juice in the Great Hall tonight. 

His eyes meet mine every time. His fork shifts food around his plate, and he doesn’t take more than two bites during the meal. 

Our eyes lock one final time before he slams his hands on the table. He yanks his bag over his shoulder and stalks towards the door, his robes billowing around him in dark swirls. 

I’m calm as I drain the last of my pumpkin juice and dab my napkin over my lips before following after him. 

He’s issued something between a challenge, a plea, and a statement. I’m going to help him determine the course of this future. 


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

I catch up to him on the way to the dungeons. 

The irony isn’t lost on me as I call out to him. “You don’t have to torture yourself for forgiveness, Draco.”

He stops. Looks over his shoulder at me. Jaw tight in words he can’t say. 

Or maybe he wouldn’t say anything back yet. Maybe stubborn poise is still winning.

So, I’m calm as I continue. “You’re caught up in the storms of too many emotions still. You’re undecided in what you want. Hermione’s friendship started you in one direction, but the way you look at me still, the way you avoid interaction while forcing yourself here when you don’t have to be, you want the pain. You’re clinging to it still. But it can’t help you.” 

Step by step, I close the lingering gap between us, and Draco lets me. His throat bobs and his eyes blink slowly. He’s hiding behind the mask, but I see the whirls of emotion between the cracks. 

“It’ll lead you off into two directions, Draco,” I tell him softly. “But what you don’t realise is that they’ll both ultimately bring you to the same awful destination.” 

He does nothing for a long moment. Stands still as carved marble, his emotions gathered. They simmer and fade into the cocoon of stillness that surrounds us. 

Until he looses a loud huff. He scoffs and his hand clenches into a ball. Then flexes. There’s a barely there shake he’s trying to control as he reaches his the bag slung over his shoulder. He yanks out one of his self-inking quills and a roll of parchment and starts to write. 

There’s little space between us, but instead of shoving the parchment at me, throwing, or flinging it, he charms it to float towards me. 

Float. 

Right to my hands. 

I haven’t said anything that simply angers him and makes him storm off. What I’ve said matters. It matters to him. 

His penmanship is remarkable, looping and refined. “ _ And just where will I end up if your asinine assumption is correct? _ ” 

Well. He wouldn’t be Draco without a dash of snark. A smidge of anger. 

“Bitterness,” I answer, lifting my eyes back to his. “You didn’t have to come back to school this term. You could have served out a sentence of house arrest at home, correct?” 

He nods. 

I lick my lips. “I think you’re still torn between wanting to show you’re more than your past and letting it consume you.” 

His eyes narrow, but he tilts his head. I understand the unspoken command to go on. 

So I do. “Guilt and haunting are sometimes the easiest ways out, but whatever you’re doing now. Whatever acts of penitence you think you’ve offered up, they will never be enough.” 

He scoffs and takes the parchment from my hands to write. Then slips it back to me. “ _ Would you care to make a wager on that?” _ I read.  __

“It already isn’t enough,” I tell him. “You know it isn’t. You’re barely holding up under the weight of your insufficiency. Keep trying to maintain it, and you’ll end up losing to hate. You’ll grow to despise everyone, everything, and yourself most of all. Because you’ll feel trapped. And that you should never have survived the war.” 

“ _ What if I say I’m starting to move on?” _ he writes. 

“I think you have.” I permit a smile, because I truly think some part of him has. Or at least wants to believe it. “In some ways you’ve made peace and moved on. But not completely.” 

He takes a sharp breath at that, his quill movements sharp as he pens his next comment. “ _ What is this? Why do you care? Why does it matter to you what stage of accepting and moving on I’m at? Or whether or not I find the right path out of this nightmare of survival?”  _

“It matters, Draco. You matter.” Words flow from the well of my being, I couldn’t stop them even if I wanted to. But I don’t. I’m resolute in my course. “Your father clung to guilt of his past and it made him bitter against his world. It made him feel superior to it. Because he wanted and expected more from everyone and everything around him. In turn, he turned against it all when they failed him. He collapsed when he failed himself. ” 

“ _ No _ .” Draco shakes his head fiercely as he writes. “ _ My father is a self-righteous prick who saw himself as a pillar for magical purity. He’s a coward who runs and hands over his own family when faced with failure.” _

“Same thing.” I lift a shoulder in a shrug. “You’re trying, though. And you’re different. I saw it when you didn’t respond with cruel glee last school year. I saw kindness in you when you brought us food in your dungeon. I saw the conflict and how you wanted different. I don’t think you could see a way out then, and I don’t think you can see a way out of yourself now. But I can. And I care enough to help. If you’ll let me.” 

He goes still again, but this time is different. Different because he’s looking at me and not the parchment or his writing hand. He’s staring right at me and  _ into _ me. 

Studying. Searching. Seeking. 

We’re close, so very close to each other, our breaths are mingled. The air is tense and I’m scared that even blinking will break the fragile fierceness of this moment—

He breaks the connection first. 

Blinking and looking back down at the parchment between us.

I’m almost worried I’ve pushed too far and too hard. That he wasn’t ready for the push of my honesty and offer. That he’ll see it as insincere, or— 

The parchments back in my hands. 

He’s written another note. 

I take hold and my finger brushes over his hand. It’s warm and I want to hold onto it. Hold onto  _ him _ , but he’s already walking away. 

Head high. Shoulders squared with resolve. 

I lift it up to my face and read, “ _ Good night. _ ” 

I don’t know if that means he found what he was looking for in that moment of getting lost in each other. I don’t know if that’s what that was for him. But it was for me—getting lost in him, that is. I haven’t had the chance for crushes to go anywhere, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t felt romantic type feelings before. 

So, I can’t speak for Draco. Wouldn’t dare to try reading beyond the swelling sea of post-traumatic emotions that he’s currently confronted with. I don’t know if this is a polite brush off and we won’t be studying together anymore...

I don’t know anything as I stand in the empty hallway alone. 

But it’s clear I won't be getting answers tonight. 

So there’s nothing more to do but make my way back to my dorm room and try to sleep. Mum always said the world looks smarter and brighter under the clarity of rested eyes. I’ve come to believe she was right. 

* * *

“ _ How are you the way you are now? Aren’t you angry when you’re with me? Aren’t you furious for the months I allowed you to be held captive and did nothing to help?”  _

Draco handed me a note at breakfast, asking if I’ll join him for a walk around the Black Lake. We walked to a tree and he moved to sit, pulling out quills and parchment as I joined him on the grass. 

The chill in the air is more than I anticipated this morning and a shiver skips down my spine. Maybe that’s my imagination, though. These are important questions and I want to answer them just so. I also want to be distracted from being confronted with my own reality. It’s easier to move on when you fix your attention on something in distress. 

That answer won’t help him. 

Neither will my dishonesty. 

I blow out a careful breath. “Do I wish things happened the way they did? No. No, I don’t. But what good would it do to be mad at everyone forever?” 

“ _ Explain,”  _ he writes. 

So, I try. “Mum was so brilliant with experiments, but she knew there were hazards involved. She experimented regardless and there was an accident that she didn’t make it out of. I could be mad she chose knowledge over safety and me, but I’m not because she’s my hero. And for the first four years of school here, plenty of people took my things and hid them around. Most of them in my own house. But they were my allies and friends when the Death Eaters were here. 

“My own father hurt me when he betrayed my friends to Death Eaters for the chance to find me, but I don’t want to lose the last bit of family I have to hate and unforgiveness. And besides…” I pause and rotate my hands. Palms upwards in a gesture of surrender. “Holding all these resentments means I believe myself to be without fault, and I know that’s untrue. I’ve said a great many hurtful things in my attempts of logical explanation—I see it written over Hermione’s face when I do. There’s no purpose in expecting perfection from people when I’m not that to them… And I think it’d be awfully lonely to never talk to anyone again because of past offenses.” 

Draco’s fast twists into a sneer, and I can almost hear his snarling drawl when I read, “ _ What I’ve done _ — _ the history between us _ — _ I think we can both agree they’re more than mere ‘offenses’. _ ” 

“I know.” I shrug and offer the most genuine smile I can. “Hermione would say the same, and I see the two of you make it work.” 

“ _ For the sake of Theo.”  _

“That may be true,” I concede. Because it could be the motivating common ground they’ve found for now. I see the faint line of friendship linking them already, though. 

I see it and want that for us. For Draco and I. I want it more than I can remember wanting anything ever before. So much it cracks my chest into a thousand pieces. Each shard a wish. A wish for Draco. And myself. 

I lay the parchment flat on the ground between us to keep from making the mistake of covering the space with my hand. 

_ Not yet _ , I tell myself. 

“The way I see it, Draco, we can forgive and move forward in friendship and respect or make the world even worse than what Voldemort had planned. Because it’ll be a world of hate of our own making this time.” 

He sits there blinking at me for what could have been a few seconds, or a few hours. I can’t tell anymore. Time loses all meaning as I sink into the swirls of his grey eyes. 

I miss their weight when he finally looks away to write something. “ _ You know you’re different, right?” _

My throat tightens. Of course I know. I’ve heard that all my life from everyone who isn’t Mum or Dad. I know how people usually mean it, but for the first time, it matters to me if he means that as a compliment… or not.  __

“I know.” I hear the vulnerability in my voice. I wonder if he does, too. 

_ “It’s a good thing. I don’t know anyone else who talks like you, but I think the world could use more people with your resilience. And logical compassion. _ ” 

“Oh.”  _ Oh _ . I think I’m beaming now. Smiling so hard my face threatens to split in two. I don’t even try to bury my joy as words spill from my lips. “You’re different, too, Draco. Unlike anyone I’ll ever meet again. And I like that about you.” 

We don’t say anything more as we sit, but that’s all right.

I caught a tinge of pink on Draco’s cheeks and he didn’t move away as I shifted to sit just a little bit closer to him while we stared out at the lake. 


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

I understand why Theo is the friend he is to Draco now. 

I  _ really _ understand, and I don’t know how the wizard has never been in love with Draco himself. 

Because I’ve fallen  _ fast _ . Utterly and completely. 

Draco is smarmy and snarky, but there’s a kindness and loyalty to him. He’s brilliant and clever, and yes, there’s a difference between the two. He’s diligent with his non-verbal magic and he grows more proficient with every passing day. He’s determined in learning Hermione’s hand signing language. And he’s persistent with the Healers, writing them weekly to see if they’ve considered something- a different potion or spell for his cure. 

He’s more himself then I’ve ever seen him before. Not that that would make sense to anyone else. 

And what’s more, he writes me letters. A parchment has materialised in my lap at least one meal a day since our exchange at the Black Lake. 

Maybe it shouldn't mean much. I can’t help it. It means  _ everything _ . 

He’s confiding in me. Talking to me. Finding a new way of getting to know me. He walks me to and from places when we’re not in the same class, and listens as I answer his own questions. His letters are full of responses to mine. 

Silly nothing notes are sometimes exchanged during and between periods. 

He teases and opens himself. He doesn’t avoid my company on walks to Hogsmeade. He joins me in quiet, intimate spaces in the shops around the village. 

His lingering gives me confidence that I’m not wrong. 

And I’m decided in my next course of action. 

* * *

I didn’t think it gaudy or flashy, but maybe it was too much... Or not enough… 

I’m second guessing myself as Draco storms up to me the last night before Christmas holiday. 

I’m alone in this dim lit corridor just as he asked in his message at dinner and I’m concerned I’ve misread his style now. Maybe he would have preferred gold or bronze—

I’ll know soon enough. He’s here. Right here in front of me, shoving the ring box in my hands. There’s a note attached and I’m torn between reading and searching the storms in his eyes for answers. 

Which is silly. 

I should just read. 

“ _ What is this?”  _ the note says. 

I’m confused. “I should think it’s obvious,” I answer. “It’s a ring of intent. From me to you.” 

His pale brows shoot into his hairline and he yanks a quill from his pocket. “ _ Why? I’m not your charity case to fawn over and want to fix forever, Luna.”  _

“I know that.” I lick my lips. Lock my eyes to his… See his fear… And find my courage. “I don’t want to fix you, Draco. I simply want to state my intent with you. It’s custom for men to offer up necklaces or bracelets when beginning a courtship, and women give rings. You’re free to accept or decline, whatever you wish, though I wish you wouldn’t. Decline, that is. I would like for you to accept my serious offer.” 

He stabs his quill at the parchment again. Not writing, but pointing at a single word. “ _ Why?”  _

“Because I like you. I like you a great deal. I’d like to see if that can grow into something deeper if given the proper chance.” 

I cast a non-verbal spell over the ringbox and parchment. Take his hands in mine. His quill falls to the floor, but that doesn’t matter. He doesn’t need it to communicate what comes next. He’ll find ways to tell me ‘yes’ or ‘no’. He’s clever like that. 

“I think you’re a catch.” I squeeze his fingers and bring them to my lips. Take my time in pressing soft kisses to his knuckles. Holding his gaze the entire time. Warmed by the fire I find between us. “I think you’re remarkable. Special. Refined. And a little bit broken, but so am I. Something in you pulls the pieces of me back together in a way that I feel more like myself. And the me I want to be. I’m asking you to be mine, so I can have the chance to be that for you.” 

His throat bobs. He doesn’t move away. 

I cant my head. Bring his hands that I’m still holding to my chest. Rest them over my heart. “Did you really think it was out of pity?” 

Draco shrugs, countless emotions welling in his gaze. 

“Okay.” I give a slight nod, clinging to him before he decides if he’s going to walk away from me forever… I don’t want to consider that. “It’s all right if you did, I suppose. I can’t fault you that. But that isn’t it. I meant it: that I like you. I like you a great deal, and have for a long while. If you’ll have me, I’d very much like to have the chance to court you and see if—”

I’m silenced with a weight over my lips and I think I have my answer. 

Draco is kissing me. 

The world is warm and tastes of Draco. It’s clumsy and uncertain, but I’m happy to learn the inner workings of this. All of this. 

We break for giggles and breaths and at some point he writes me things, and I respond with kisses back to him. We find an empty room and disappear inside, locking everything out that isn’t kisses and each other. 

I don’t tell him I think I could already be in love with him. I don’t know if he’s ready for that. I don’t know if I’m ready to admit it aloud either. 

For now, all that matters is that his lips are moving against mine and he’s sighing, nipping, and tasting.

Draco’s speaking to me in his own way. 

A new way. 

Words only I can hear and see. 

And I like it better this way.


End file.
